


A Wide, Dark Sky

by perilous_circumstance



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, All the space stuff you didn't know you needed, Alternate Universe - Space, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Future Fic, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hurt/Comfort, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Ron Weasley is a Good Friend, Space Opera
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-23 07:53:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21316744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perilous_circumstance/pseuds/perilous_circumstance
Summary: Set an indeterminate amount of time in the future, the wizarding world is travelling across Space. Hermione is a veteran of the Second Wizarding War and a Junior Auror aboard the giant Station, the large starship that houses the main parts of the Ministry, Hogwarts and other communal parts of the wizarding community. She is battling residual trauma leftover from the War, as well as a painfully awkward attraction to her former-Death Eater colleague, Draco Malfoy. When they are sent on a routine shuttle mission and disaster happens, Hermione is forced to confront her feelings for the insufferable git.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 15
Kudos: 51
Collections: DFW Trope Fest 2019





	A Wide, Dark Sky

**Author's Note:**

> All the space stuff you didn't know you needed! Wizards...in Space!
> 
> Written for the Dramione Fanfiction Writers Facebook Group TropeFest, my trope was Future Fic! So I went fairly literal...very, very far into the future.
> 
> It's a future AU, but the background is generally the same. Same Hogwarts experiences, same War, same Death Eaters, same Voldy...just all of it set against the background of huge starships and space-stations. Don't ask me for more details because I don't know! I just wanted them to be in space, so here they are.
> 
> I'm no astronaut, so all references to the operations of starships are just what I remember from sci-fi books, Star Wars and random episodes of Star Trek. Everything runs on magic, to a degree, so that makes it easier lol. 
> 
> And, as always, I own none of the wizarding world. It all belongs to JK Rowling, long may she allow us to mess around with her world.

The sterile glare of the overhead lights made her retinas burn as she moved through the empty hallways, her Ministry-issued boots echoing off the tiles. It was well past normal working hours and the Station halls were mostly empty, the night crew already ensconced in their respective areas and everyone else either in their quarters or in the community Halls. Hermione rolled her shoulders, feeling the tightness along the muscles of her neck and upper back clench with exhaustion. She walked on auto-pilot, treading the familiar path towards Diagon Alley and the back-hallway where her personal quarters were located.

As a Junior Auror, her duty hours stretched from early morning well into the evening. Not for the first time, she wondered if she regretted choosing her current career path when she had left Hogwarts. If she had become a researcher, as she had considered, perhaps she would have been off duty hours ago. But she pushed the thought aside, knowing herself well enough to know that a research position wouldn’t have been fulfilling. The Gryffindor in her needed action and danger, as well as knowledge and academia. No other position except Auror would suffice.

She turned into one of the large public Halls, lined with low-level Ministry offices. A few harried-looking clerks scuttled through doors, but otherwise, it was deserted. Tinny, non-descript music piped through the Station intercom system and followed her as she moved past. She wondered what life was like planet-side, where public life wasn’t soundtracked by digitized versions of classical hits. She had been on the Station since she was eleven, ever since she received her Hogwarts letter. Before that, her home had been on one of the immense Muggle faux-planets, where her parents had been dentists. But she had been born on old-Earth, though she could barely remember it. That life continued to feel further and further away.

She rounded a corner and was suddenly surrounded by a sinuous ribbon of glowing light. She stopped, waiting as it slid around her torso and came to a rest in the air before her. The light coalesced into the ghostly form of a small Jack Russel terrier, it’s small legs churning as it bounced in place. She grinned, reaching a hand towards the small dog.

“Hermione! Put down whatever book you’re stuck in and get your arse to the Leaky -- shut up Harry, hold on -- we’re on leave for the night! Just docked and we’re heading straight to the Alley. Can’t wait to see you!”

As it always did, the sound of Ron’s voice emanating from the tiny dog made Hermione grin. He had changed so much after Hogwarts and the War, his body filling out with the rigorous Auror training and maturity. He towered over her now, a broad-chested man, and his Patronus was a continuous source of mirth amongst their circle. 

After the War, Ron and Harry had taken the Ministry’s offer of Auror positions without having to return to Hogwarts. Hermione had received the same offer but had declined, too much herself to pass up completing her education. It was the reason her closest friends were already full professional Aurors and she was still just a Junior Auror, but she didn’t regret it. She would be on missions alongside them soon enough, though from what she could discern from recent communications, they were rather bored. Now that the War was over, most off-Station missions involved routine surveillance with the occasional tracking of rogue Dark Wizards. 

She cast a critical gaze down her body and grimaced at her usual outfit of fitted cargo trousers, boots and white t-shirt. She wore robes over her clothing while on duty and usually had no reason to wear anything more inspiring. As she moved from the public Hall and into the communal square that marked the beginning of Diagon Alley, she carded her fingers through her unruly curls.

The Alley was slightly more bustling than the main Halls as people shopped and strolled through the faux-Earthside facades. A low rumble of voices mingled with the standard Station music, and Hermione could smell food cooking. She raised her hand in greeting as she passed several witches and wizards she recognized, manoeuvring herself through the clutches of people as she approached the purposefully scruffy entrance to the Leaky Cauldron. She tapped her wand on the artfully crumbling bricks and slid through into the darkened haze.

Xx

The noise of the pub crescendoed and Hermione settled back into her chair, her body warm and brain buzzing from the third glass of firewhiskey. Beside her, Ginny was regaling the table with another story of her training with the Stationsiders, the professional Quidditch team of the Station that had recruited her after Hogwarts. She had the attention of Harry, Ron and Seamus, the boy’s laughter sending a warm thrill of comfort through Hermione as she gazed affectionately at her friends. It was good to have them back; with the boys off-Station, Ginny in training and her own duties, it wasn’t often that she had the opportunity to see her closest friends. She was friendly with several of the other Junior Aurors she had known in Hogwarts, but it wasn’t the same.

“Sickle for your thoughts,” Ron said, nudging her with his shoulder. He grinned at her over his pint glass, his blue eyes sparkling in the dim light.

“I’m glad you are here,” she whispered, her head dropping to his shoulder as she scooted her chair closer to his. “I’ve missed the both of you.”

“Merlin, we’ve missed you ‘Mione,” he said, his voice a low rumble. He slung an arm around her and pulled her against him in a quick hug. “It’s not the same without you there to keep us out of trouble.”

She laughed, sitting up and grinning at him. “I never did a very good job of keeping the two of you out of trouble,” she scoffed. “In fact, I think the three of us did a fairly good job of finding trouble at every turn.”

“True,” he agreed, setting his glass on the table in front of him. “But I’m clever enough to know that without you we never would have survived any of it.”

She sucked in a ragged breath, pushing back the memories of the War that were always dancing at the fringes of her mind. She saw Ron’s eyes darken, and she knew he was also thinking about the War. She reached for his hand and squeezed, her lips curving in a comforting smile.

“You’re here and that’s all that matters,” she said, glancing over to where Harry was having an animated conversation with Seamus and Ginny. “Let’s not think about anything else.”

She relaxed into her chair, the weight of Ron’s arm around her shoulder grounding her in a way she hadn’t realized she missed. Their abortive try at a relationship after the War had been brief and awkward, and she was continually thankful that their friendship had survived intact. If she was honest with herself, the connection between them had evolved into a deep, abiding affection. Harry would always be her brother, but he had Ginny now. She would forever be connected to Ron; their experiences during the War and their love for Harry had created a bond she would forever be grateful for.

“Oh! There’s Theo!” Ginny’s voice broke through the rumble of voices, and Hermione swung her gaze towards the redhead. She was bouncing in her seat, waving an arm over her head.

Harry’s questioning gaze made her settle back into her chair, a stern expression on her face. “I don’t want any of you bringing up any of that stuff from the War, do you hear me? He’s been wonderful in training, a good mate. You’d all like him.”

“I’m sure he wants to move on as much as the rest of us do,” Harry said, patting his girlfriend on the shoulder. His gaze rose to meet Ron and Hermione’s and they nodded at him, taking their cues from him. If Harry could be cordial to the son of a convicted Death Eater, then so could they.

A tall, lanky man with a mop of dark curls emerged from the crowd, his face set in a sardonic grin as he moved with an elegant grace towards their table. Hermione thought she recognized the boy he had once been in the sharp edges of his face, but she had to admit that Theodore Nott had grown up. She knew he had been in training with the Stationsiders, Ginny had mentioned him once or twice. But she hadn’t known the two had become close.

As Theo moved closer, two other men pushed their way through the crowd behind him. The dark features of Blaise Zabini were recognizable anywhere because of his meteoric rise within the Ministry bureaucracy and continual appearance in the Daily Prophet. The man beside him was light to Zabini’s dark, a shock of blonde hair that fell into steely grey eyes that flitted nervously around him as he walked. Hermione felt her heart clench in her chest at the exact moment that Ron stiffened beside her.

“Malfoy,” Ron breathed, his hand spasming on Hermione’s shoulder. She reached for it, squeezing it comfortingly.

“He’s harmless, Ron,” she whispered, her eyes never leaving Draco. “He’s in training with me, keeps to himself mostly. He won’t cause any trouble.”

She felt Ron nod beside her, the tension in his body lessening slightly. “I know, I’ve heard he’s keeping his head down,” he said, his arm dropping from her shoulders as he gripped his pint with both hands. “I just don’t know if I’ll ever be able to look at him without seeing his dad across the battlefield.”

Hermione swallowed, her nod sharp. She knew what he meant; sometimes she would turn away from a task and catch sight of Malfoy unexpectedly, the panic flaring brightly within her as she struggled to push away memories of pain and flashing magic. Sometimes their eyes would meet and she would catch a fleeting glimpse of resigned understanding; he knew exactly what his appearance sparked in veterans of the Second Wizarding War.

“Well if it isn’t the she-weasel,” Theo snarked, his voice heavy with laughter as he reached a hand towards Ginny. She took it, giving it a shake and motioning towards the empty chairs at their long table. He slid into the chair, grinning at the table. “And her Gryffindor chums. Hullo everyone.”

There was a brief pause, heavy with unnamed emotion, before Harry stuck his hand out to the dark-haired Slytherin.

“Nott,” Harry said, his voice even. Hermione caught the slight widening of Theo’s eyes and wondered if he had expected trouble. But he masked it well, his own hand coming up to grip Harry’s. Beside him, Zabini and Malfoy slid into the empty chairs. Hermione was acutely aware of Draco to her left, the only remaining empty chair between them. She sucked in a breath, her eyes rising to meet his before flitting away.

“You all know Draco and Blaise,” Theo was saying, waving an elegant hand towards his companions. Zabini was grinning wolfishly at the table, while Malfoy looked pained. He swallowed heavily, his throat bobbing as he gripped the table. Hermione felt caught, her eyes wide as she watched the two men. Beside her, Ron shifted in his chair. 

“Zabini...Malfoy.” Ron reached around her, his long arm extended towards the men. Hermione watched, her heart in her throat as both men hesitated and then gripped it in turn, the tension leaking away from the table in a quiet rush. 

She turned away and bumped gently against Ron, her heart swelling with affection for the gentle-hearted redhead. If any of them had grown and matured since the War, it was most definitely Ronald Weasley. He caught her gaze and grinned, taking a sip of his pint. 

“Finnegan, Granger,” Draco’s voice was level as he greeted the rest of the table and Hermione felt herself stiffen in response. She let her eyes slide to him, determinedly holding his gaze for the count of two seconds as she nodded her greeting. As it always did, his presence sent her emotions in a tailspin; memories of the War, his tall frame, the way his blond hair fell into his eyes. She felt her heart lurch into her throat as she looked away.

Ginny was watching her, a contemplative expression on her freckled face. She tracked the small blush that Hermione could feel heating her cheeks and grinned. 

“I need the toilet,” Ginny announced, pushing her chair away from the table. “Hermione, will you come with me? Help me beat off the men?”

At the sound of Harry’s faux-affrontery, she laughed, holding her hand out to Hermione and pulling her from her chair. “You know what they say, girls always go to the toilet in pairs,” she trilled, her arm wrapping around Hermione’s waist. “Now, I expect to come back to the lot of you behaving yourselves. Absolutely no hexes, do you hear me?”

With a final laugh, she twirled Hermione away and into the crowd.

Xx

“Alright, spill.”

Hermione peered at herself in the bathroom mirror, her hands ineffectually patting at her curls. Beside her, Ginny was perched on the sink, twirling her wand in her hands. She was watching Hermione with a gleam in her eyes and a knowing smirk.

“I don’t know what you mean, Ginevra.”

“Don’t you  _ Ginevra _ me, Hermione,” Ginny said, her wand coming up to tap Hermione’s nose. “What was all that about? The tension between you and Malfoy is as thick as honey.”

Hermione felt her stomach somersault as she tried to keep her voice and demeanour nonchalant.

“Leftover from the War, I suppose,” she said, running her fingers through her hair.

“Bullshit,” Ginny spat. She crossed her arms over her chest and waited, her green eyes piercing as they stared unflinching at Hermione.

For one short second, she considered prevaricating but almost immediately felt her resolve crumble away. It wouldn’t be the worst thing to tell Ginny; she knew the redhead would never tell anyone something told in confidence. She slumped slightly, letting her fingers skate over her curls before her hands dropped to her waist, twisting nervously as she watched their reflection in the mirror.

“Alright, fine,” she whispered, her voice resigned. “I’m attracted to him.”

“What was that? I didn’t hear you.”

“Oh fuck off,  _ Ginevra _ ,” she laughed, her eyes snapping up to her friend. “You heard me perfectly fine. I’m attracted to him.”

Ginny leaned back against the wall, a satisfied smile spreading across her face. “Of course you are, he’s fit,” she said approvingly. “And as smart as you are, which has got to be a change of pace for you.”

“I assure you, it’s purely physical,” Hermione said primly, letting her eyes slide away from Ginny’s piercing gaze. 

“Hermione.” 

Ginny’s voice was soft as her hand came up to grip her friend’s shoulder. Hermione let her face turn towards her, and felt the breath catch in her throat at the look on the redhead’s face.

“You’re attracted to him. He’s single. The chemistry between the two of you is incendiary. What’s the problem?”

She felt the laugh bubble cruelly up from her stomach, the sound a sharp crack in the tiled space of the pub loo.

“The problem? You’re joking,” she spat. “I think you’re forgetting the very relevant fact that I was tortured on his drawing-room floor.”

Ginny’s grip spasmed on her shoulder and she choked back the flood of panic that threatened to swamp through her. She rarely let herself think about the particulars of the War.

“He was a supremely shit Death Eater,” Ginny said quietly as she slid from her perch on the sink. Lifting a hand, she pushed the curls away from the side of Hermione’s face, her fingertips skating along the florid scar across her neck. “He has gone to great lengths to distance himself from his father; he’s become a bloody Auror, for Merlin’s sake.”

Hermione sucked in a breath, feeling it burn through her lungs. She turned her face towards her friend, smiling softly. “I know. Gods, I know,” she groaned. “I see it every day we train together. He’s not the boy he was back then. But Gin,” she choked, her hand coming up to wipe at her eyes. “Every time I look at him, it’s like this combination of attraction and revulsion. I want him, but I can’t help feeling so guilty because of everything we lost. Everyone we lost.”

Ginny turned towards her and gripped her shoulders, hauling her around until they were face to face. “Everyone we lost, Hermione. They are  _ gone _ ,” she hissed, shaking her friend gently. “But we are here. You are alive and you deserve every bit of happiness that comes your way. If you want him? Go and get him.”

Hermione let every ounce of love and affection she felt for the other girl flood through her and into her gaze. She felt the tears threatening and blinked, her hands coming up to grip Ginny’s fingers where they dug into her shoulders.

“Oh Gin,” she breathed. “I wish it was that simple.”

“But it can be, Hermione,” Ginny said. “It really can be.”

Xx

The flashing lights of the operations panel swam in Hermione’s vision. She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in hard through her nose as she tried desperately to calm her churning stomach. She tried to centre herself on the cold metal of her chair, but her hangover made her mind twist in a nauseous spiral. 

After her embarrassing admission to Ginny in the pub loo the night before, she had returned to the table and promptly set about getting as drunk as humanly possible. Which would have been embarrassing, except that it seemed everyone else was on the same mission so she didn’t think her own behaviour would rate much concern.

The last thing she remembered was giving Harry and Ron an emotional goodbye outside her quarters before falling fully clothed into bed. Her alarm had been a rude awakening a scant few hours later.

She rubbed at her face with the heels of her palms, letting her gaze slide to where she knew Malfoy would be slumped in his own chair. He had been just as drunk as the rest of them, a fact proven by his willingness to sing Quidditch chants with Ron and Seamus well into the night. They had skirted around each other, avoiding each other’s gaze and striving to speak as few words as possible. She did have vague memories of turning around and finding him watching her, but his eyes would slide away as soon as he saw her face turned towards him. She desperately hoped he hadn’t caught on to her attraction; that was the last thing she needed.

“Granger! Malfoy! I’ve got a mission for the two of you.”

Auror Commander Robards came striding across the Bridge, the buttons of his immaculate robes catching the light. He stopped beside Hermione’s chair and rested a hand on the back, looking down the bridge of his nose at her.

“Sir?” She flinched at the rasping of her voice, roughened by exhaustion and her damned hangover. His eyebrows rose a few centimetres but he merely turned his gaze towards the far side of the operations panel, to where Malfoy waited in his own seat.

“A mission for you two, Junior Aurors,” he repeated, and Hermione felt her heart sink into her feet. “We’ve come to the realization that our current map of the adjacent asteroid field isn’t as complete as we would like it to be. I want the two of you on a shuttle this morning and to begin mapping it with more detail.”

He waved his wand towards the holo-screen above the panel and Hermione watched as the coordinates illuminated, the magic glowing to track the large spread of asteroids as they floated in Space.

“Field 1670-RDI, several lengths off our port bow. It shouldn’t take you long to reach it, and I want you return-docked by 15:00 hours,” Robards said, his eyes tracking the holo-screen. “There’s a two-man shuttle at the front of the launch-zone, just came in from maintenance. Get your duties transferred and get down there.”

Hermione jumped up, saluting Robards and turning towards the back of the Bridge. As she gestured for another Junior Auror to come take her place at the op-panel, she caught Malfoy’s gaze as he did the same. She expected some animosity from him; they were about to be stuck together in a tin-can floating in open Space for an entire day. But instead, his expression was blank, if slightly contemplative. She wasn’t sure why this angered her, but it does. She narrowed her eyes at him before turning sharply away.

Xx

Hermione hated shuttle missions. The enclosed bridge was really only large enough for one person, but someone had decided to jam two seats against the op-panel. The large window wrapped around the entire front-side of the small ship, the expanse of open Space as oppressive as the metal walls that enclosed from behind. She had never known she had a touch of claustrophobia until she had been assigned to her first shuttle, and had spent the entire mission fighting back a surging wall of panic. Over time, she had resigned herself to the necessity of the missions but she still felt that same panic licking at her heels for the duration.

Malfoy sat in the seat beside her, his hands moving over the op-panel as he corrected their coordinates in real-time. She flicked a glance towards the holo-screen map, tracking their movement across the glowing grid. With a flick of her wand, she enlarged a section and scanned the read-out.

“Debris in quadrant three, half a length from starboard,” she said, her voice dispassionate. She felt Malfoy pause slightly before he resumed his tapping on the op-panel. As she slid her gaze to the instrument readings, she saw the holo-screen flicker in her peripheral vision. Her eyes snapped back to the grid, but the glowing magic remained steady. Giving a mental shrug, she turned back to the panel.

After running through her routine instrument check, she settled back into her chair to wait. Beside her, Draco moved through his own routines. She was acutely aware of how close they were, his elbow centimetres from where her arm rested on the chair. She drew in a steadying breath, determined to fight her way through the tension that filled every crevice of the tiny shuttle.

No matter where she looked, she could see him. The long line of his legs stretched out below the op-panel, the curve of his back as he hunched over the instruments, the tip of his fading Dark Mark that appeared where his robe sleeve rode up over a corded forearm. Her eyes flicked to and fro, but it was no use; the shuttle was too small and he was too large. It was becoming a problem.

If she was honest with herself, her attraction to him was becoming a problem. It was rapidly approaching the point where she couldn’t be near him without it swamping through her, ratcheting the tension to painful levels. And as the attraction grew, so did the guilt. She was half-aroused and half-grief-stricken at all times, a state that she knew would eventually drive her mad. She couldn’t deny that eventually, something would break, and she was terribly afraid that it would be her mind.

Draco settled back into his chair, his eyes flicking across the holo-screen. She reflexively checked her own readings and noted that they seemed to be on the correct course with no obstructions. She felt her breath hitch as he ran a hand through his blond hair, before letting it drop to the arm-rest. The small space between their arms felt electrically charged.

“Gods damn all firewhiskey,” he groaned, dropping his head back against his chair and letting his eyes roll towards her. “Are you as hungover as I am?”

She stiffened, unprepared for this level of casual conversation. As if they were friends? Her heart began to race and she turned away from him, flicking her wand towards the holo-screen. She ran through her readings, hoping he would lapse back into silence.

“Oh for fucks...what is your problem, Granger?” His voice was a low growl that sent off fireworks low in her core. She stamped them down, steeling herself as she cut her eyes towards him.

“Just don’t talk to me, Malfoy,” she spat.

“Are you serious right now?” he asked, incredulous. “Your two sidekicks can stand to be around me, can even chat with me about Quidditch over a pint, but you can’t even make small talk while we’re stuck in this fucking tin-can?”

She didn’t answer, glaring out the window as her heart hammered against her chest. He groaned, covering his eyes with an elegant hand.

“I’m too bloody hungover for this,” he groaned. “What happened to goody-two-shoes, everyone-gets-a-second-chance Gryffindor Granger?”

She saw red. “What happened to her?” she hissed, swinging her body round to face him, her hands gripping the chair arm-rest until her knuckles whitened. “The bloody War happened! Your fucking maniac of an aunt happened!”

The colour drained from his face in an instant, his eyes widening as he stared back at her. His eyes flicked to her left arm and she flinched, drawing her hands into her lap and huddling into her chair. She turned away from him, her eyes watching the passing stars without seeing them. She heard him heave out a ragged sigh, heard him shift in his seat. But he didn’t say anything, and she was grateful.

They sat in silence for what felt like ages. Hermione tried desperately to settle herself, to focus on the mission so that she could get off this shuttle and away from him. Her heart ached, her mind roiling with images of him and flashes of memory from the War. Faces of those she had lost. An endless loop of her screams.

“Granger, check your readings,” he said, his voice cracking through the stillness. She sat up, casting her eyes towards him. His hands moved across the op-panel, his eyes tracking across the holo-screen. There was an expression of worry slowly descending over his patrician features. He cut his gaze to her.

“Something is wrong.”

She felt her heart plummet to her toes at the exact moment the shuttle gave a shuddering lurch. She let her hands fly over the op-panel, flicking her wand towards her screen. The readings scrolled across her view, nothing making sense.

“This is...Malfoy, this isn’t good,” she breathed. All her previous turmoil was instantly forgotten, her eyes scanning the holo-screen. “Why has our speed increased?”

“Increasing. It’s continuing to increase,” he said, his voice rising above the whine of the shuttle propulsion. “Our magic isn’t having any effect on the controls. We’re malfunctioning!”

The shuttle lurched again, and Hermione’s eyes flew to the holo-screen.

“Fuck, Malfoy, we’ve shaken off our course!” She snapped her wand towards the screen, calculating their new course. As the grid scrolled down the screen, she felt her stomach drop. Several clusters of glowing spots gleamed ominously within the holo-screen.

“We’re on a collision course,” she whispered. Beside her, Malfoy swore.

“We’re breaking apart,” he yelled, swinging an arm towards the port-side window. Hermione saw a trail of sparks bloom out from the side of the shuttle and she swallowed, feeling a deathly calm begin to spread through her extremities.

“Malfoy, listen to me,” she said, turning fully towards him. She reached across and gripped his forearm. “When I tell you to, I want you to transfigure our clothing into jump-suits. I’m going to start the ejection sequence and it’s going to take all my concentration,” she sucked in a shuddering breath, gripping the chair as the shuttle gave another violent lurch. “Once the sequence is in place, I will give you the signal to cast our Bubble-head charms.”

“And then what, Granger?” he shouted, his voice rising in panic. The noise of their increased speed and the disintegration of the exterior was now a violent roar, punctuated by small explosions. 

“And then we eject,” she yelled back, tightening her grip on his arm. “And we try not to get separated. Our only hope is to get a Patronus back to the Station for a rescue.”

He stared at her for a brief moment, his entire body rigid. If he panicked now, they would both die; there was no way she could handle everything alone. Just as she was about to try yelling at him and maybe shaking him a bit, he nodded. 

“Let’s do this, Granger,” he said, his voice determined. She blinked back at him, breathing deep. His lips quirked up in a small smile and his long fingers wrapped around hers where they gripped his arm. He squeezed them as she let go.

She felt herself move into that space she had come to know as her inner-Gryffindor, the one that had seen her through the War. She turned away from Draco, pointing her wand at the holo-screen as her other hand tapped a rapid sequence on the op-panel.

“Transfigure our clothing, Malfoy,” she said, not letting her eyes leave the screen. 

She felt her robes begin to shift and whisper against her skin, loosening and constricting in new places until she felt the familiar weight of the open Space jump-suit. She cast a glance back at Draco and watched as his own robes shifted. Once they were both suitably clothed, she met his gaze.

“I’m about to start the ejection sequence,” she yelled over the noise. “When I give the signal, cast the Bubblehead charm. You first, and then me.” He looked as if he might argue but she glared at him. “It’s protocol, Malfoy! You first so that you can cast the second charm safely.”

After a moment of hesitation, punctuated by the shuttle heaving into a particularly violent lurch, he nodded. She turned back to the holo-screen and flicked her wand, her hands moving rapidly across the op-panel. As she worked, a shrieking tearing sound reverberated through the shuttle. They were thrown sideways and Hermione struggled to remain in contact with the op-panel, her wand still trained on the holo-screen. She felt Draco against her back, his arm slung across her waist as he tried to keep her stationary.

“Now, Malfoy!” She screamed, her wand sparking as she cast the last charm needed to initiate the ejection. There was a momentary pause and then they were being pushed and pulled in all directions, the pressure closing in and making Hermione’s vision blackout. She had a moment of intense panic as the air in her lungs disappeared and there was nothing to fill them with; until suddenly she could breathe, Draco’s Bubblehead charm sliding into place.

Her vision suddenly returned, the sterile enclosure of the shuttle replaced by the vast blackness of open Space. Half a length below them, what remained of the shuttle was shooting off into the distance as it continued on its course. She could feel Draco’s arm still wrapped around her middle, the length of his body against her back. Her wand was still gripped in her gloved hand as she craned her neck to try to see if Malfoy still had his. Just as she was able to turn in his grip, the delayed wave of the moving shuttle hit them, buffeting them away. Draco’s arm slid from around her and she tried to grab it, but she was too slow. She spun, trying to remember all of her free-fall training, keeping her movements compact and sharp. 

Draco was floating away from her, and she felt panic flare within her. If they were separated...but just before she did something careless, like try to move towards him, he executed a tight spin. His arm shot out, grasping her right heel. She could have sobbed in relief as she felt him gently pull her towards him, his arm wrapping around her once again. 

This time they were facing each other, their Bubblehead helmets bumping lazily as they stared wide-eyed into each other’s eyes. Hermione raised her wand and tapped each helmet before casting a wordless  _ garrulus  _ charm. She let her hand fall against his chest, her gloved fingers gripping at his jump-suit.

“Are you alright?” His voice sounded tinny and soft within the confines of her bubble helmet, the communication charm taking effect.

She nodded, sucking in a steadying breath. “I’m fine,” she whispered. “You?”

“Right as rain,” he said, his eyes casting over her shoulder. “Except for the part where I’m floating in open Space, with no one knowing where I am.”

She smiled softly, willing the tears she could feel collecting at the corner of her eyes to stay where they were. She let her gaze slide across his sharp features, taking in the curve of his jaw and the line of his neck. Rarely one to shy away from hard truths, she knew that their chance of surviving this was very slim. In the harsh light of their impending demise, her attraction to him and her turmoil resulting from it seemed rather ridiculous. 

“Malfoy,” she breathed, the resignation in her tone making his gaze snap back to her face. “We have one chance of getting out of this. One of us has to cast a Patronus back to the Station. And we need a beacon charm for the rescue team to spot,” she paused, waiting for his nod. “These Bubblehead helmets will not last long; the decreasing oxygen will lessen our magic and our lessening magic will cause the Bubblehead charms to falter. We don’t have much time.”

She felt his arm spasm against her, tightening his grip and pulling her closer into his body. She wished desperately that the first time he was holding her in his arms there wasn’t layers of magicked fabric between them. She felt the tears threatening again.

“You cast the Patronus, Granger,” he said, his eyes boring into hers. “Mine was never very strong after...after the War.”

She nodded, trying to convey her understanding through her gaze. “You cast the beacon charm.”

“And then?”

“And then we wait.”

Hermione wrenched her arm up, holding her wand aloft. As she cast her Patronus, she watched the ribbon of magic slide from the wand-tip and coalesce, the otter trotting in place as it waited for her instructions.

“Take this message to Auror Commander Robards, on the Station Bridge. ‘Granger and Malfoy ejected in quadrant two, three lengths from intended target on a faulty course. Casting beacon charm. Losing oxygen and magic. Please hurry.’”

She watched as the otter shook itself and then turned, racing off into a sinuous thread of magic before disappearing from sight. She felt Draco’s wand arm lift and heard him mutter the beacon charm. The flare of light from the magical beacon illuminated the space around them, casting a harsh glare.

They bobbed in silence, holding on to each other as the minutes ticked past. Hermione stared out into Space, awed by the enveloping darkness and the pinpricks of stars. She supposed if she had to die somewhere, there could be nowhere as terribly beautiful as this.

After what felt like an age, she began to feel her breathing become slightly more laboured. She pushed down the panic, turning her attention to her breaths. After a moment, she looked away from open Space and into Draco’s gaze.

“Can you feel your oxygen lessening?” Her voice was a whisper, as if volume might conserve breaths.

“I can,” he answered, equally as quiet.

She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling his arm at her waist and her fingers where they tangled in her glove and his jump-suit. She opened her eyes.

“I don’t think we are going to make it,” she said, her eyes finding his. She could see his resignation, but also a strong determination.

“Gods, Granger,” he choked, his arm sliding against her waist and his hand flattening against her lower back. “If we’re going to die out here...there’s so much I want to tell you. No, let me finish,” he said, drawing her closer as she opened her mouth to speak. “I’m sorry. For everything. For the War, for my Father, for my behaviour at school and after. For not having the courage to tell you this before, when it could have mattered.”

“Oh, Malfoy,” she breathed, feeling the tears pool in her eyes. He was looking at her face, his eyes tracking over every feature as if memorizing them.

“And the terrible thing is, I should have told you how much I respect you,” he said, his voice strangled. “How much I wish things had been different between us.”

She felt her love for him hit her like a tonne of bricks; because of course that’s what it was,  _ love _ . And all the time she had wasted agonizing over her feelings for this man made her want to weep, but she would be damned if she wasted any more time.

“Do you think we could have been friends? If things had been different?” Her voice was soft, heavy with the tears that tracked down her cheeks.

“No,” he said, and she felt her heart crack. But his eyes were hot on hers, his hand a warm pressure on her back, even through the layers of her jump-suit. “No, not friends. Because I would have wanted you as more than a friend.”

She sobbed then, the sorrow bubbling up within her chest. “Merlin,” she choked, sucking in breaths that didn’t fill her lungs. She could see the edges of her vision beginning to darken, until all she could see was his face.

“If things were different,” she rasped. “I could have loved you. In another life, without our history, I could have realized I loved you so much sooner.”

She watched as a tear tracked down his pale cheek, her vision centring on it as it slid along his jaw. They were both sucking in breaths, their mouths working soundlessly as they tried to fill their lungs. He pulled her against him, as close as their jump-suits would allow. She gripped his shoulders, lowering her helmet to his chest and pressing as close as she could. As she slipped into the darkness, she imagined she could hear his heart beating and she followed it into sleep.

Xx

Hermione came awake with a violent gasp, feeling her lungs expand painfully as she sucked in air. The darkness was gone, replaced by a blinding, sterile whiteness. The staccato rhythm of monitoring charms surrounded her and she could tell by the smell of medicines that she must be in St. Mungo’s.

“Steady there, Junior Auror,” a voice said comfortingly, the weight of a hand pressing her back into the bed. “Take it easy.”

A cup was pressed to her lips and she drank, the cool water sliding down her raw throat. Her vision expanded, bit by bit, until she recognized one of the small healer chambers in the St. Mungo’s ward. Two women stood beside her bed, their faces kind as they watched her drink.

She pushed the cup away and tried to sit up. One of the women, a healer by the colour of her robes, grabbed her arm and helped her raise herself up onto her pillows. The other woman set the cup down on a tray and turned back to the bed, hands clasped at her waist.

“I’m sure you have questions, Junior Auror Granger,” she said, her voice kind. “And they will be answered in due time. Right now I can tell you that yes, you are back on the Station. You and Junior Auror Malfoy were rescued, just in time, might I add. You have a bit of Space-sickness and oxygen-deprivation, but nothing that can’t be cured with a bit of rest.” She moved closer to the bed, laying a hand on Hermione’s knee. “You are a very lucky young woman.”

Hermione blinked back at her, finding that she couldn’t conjure any words. She felt the tears gather in her eyes and watched through a watery veil as the other woman moved around the bed towards the door.

“Now, there’s someone who has been waiting rather impatiently for you to wake up,” the woman said, smiling back at Hermione as she opened the door. 

As the two women left, a tall figure slid into the room. Hermione felt the tears spill from her eyes and onto her cheeks as a sob wracked through her. He was at her side in an instant, his elegant hands simultaneously wiping her cheek and gripping her shoulder. She turned her face up to him, drinking in the sight of Draco’s face.

“Granger...Hermione,” he rasped, his voice rough with emotion. 

She laughed, the sound joyous in the sterile stillness of the hospital room. His hands moved to her arms as he stared down at her, his eyes tracking over her face and body.

“Gods, Draco,” she said, her eyes catching his. “How did we survive that?”

“They rescued us, that’s all I know,” he said, his eyes still roaming over her frame. “I’ve been told we’ll be debriefed once we’re discharged from Mungo’s. Merlin,” he choked, his forehead dropping to press against hers. “Merlin.”

She touched his cheek with the pads of her fingers, letting them drag along the sharpness of his cheekbone and delighting in the way he turned slightly into her touch. His hands came up to frame her face, cradling it gently as he stared into her eyes.

“You said, if things were different…,” he broke off, his eyes fluttering shut as he seemed to gather his courage. He took a shuddering breath, his hands spasming against her cheeks. “Are things different enough now for us to start over?”

She let her fingers slide down his face to his neck, watching as goosebumps trailed in their wake.

“No,” she whispered, and his breath hitched. “No, there is too much history to start over,” she said, gripping him as he made to pull away. “But we can try to deal with that history together, if that’s what you think you want.”

He stilled under her touch, his breath warm on her face. “It is,” he said, his lips somehow closer to her own than they had been a breath ago. “It is what I want.”

“I’m a mess,” she whispered, the confession wrenched from her. “I can’t shake the War off, I’m still there sometimes. It won’t go away.”

His hand slid along her neck to her collarbone, the warmth of his touch burning into her skin. His other arm wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her closer. 

“Me too, Granger,” he said, his lips now brushing against her mouth. “But we’ll deal with that together too. If you want to.”

“I do,” she breathed. “I want you.”

He kissed her then, his mouth opening hers and his hands pulling her against his body and holding her as if he could never let her go. There was so much between them, so many years and hurts, but Hermione felt a fluttering hope take hold in her chest as she pressed into him. She tipped her head back, letting him deepen the kiss as she melted into him, her eyes closing on a sigh. The darkness behind her eyelids was wide and infinite, pinpricked by a million stars.

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
